Missing Pieces
by loulouflowerpower
Summary: What are the missing pieces that we don't get to see between our three friends and detectives, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Amelia Wilson, that the main series doesn't cover? Have you ever wondered about what really happened during those cases on John's blog? Or what about how Sherlock and Amelia's relationship developed behind closed doors? Collection of one-shots.
1. Chapter 1 Amelia: sick

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters related to the BBC TV show.**_

…

 _ **Sick: Amelia**_

 _ **Featuring: Sherlock and Amelia, with a brief appearance of John.**_

Sherlock was bored, painfully so, and a bored Sherlock Holmes without any cigarettes or drugs to occupy his time was a very dangerous thing indeed. He hadn't had a case in a week, not since Baskerville; in fact, they hadn't even had a single client in all that time, not even an email. Well, aside from the usual annoying ones, he could have killed Amelia and John for thinking that it would be amusing to start spamming his email with pictures of cats and dogs dressed up, Amelia had even sent him an email of an otter with the tagline 'This reminded me of you, Holmes'. Needless to say, he had made sure to be extra annoying towards both of them after that and had made sure to play his violin to all hours of the early morning, just because he knew that if Amelia hated anything more than him meddling with her beauty products for one of his experiments, it was being kept up all night with his playing. Seeing both John and Amelia the next morning with dark circles under their bloodshot eyes and barely able to even form sentences due to being so tired was sweet vengeance in his mind.

He sighed heavily and glared up at the ceiling above his head, stretched out across his sofa, almost able to literally feel his brain slowly starting to commit suicide just from the sheer boredom of not having any case to investigate. He was almost desperate enough to call Lestrade and demanded that he give them a case, but he held himself back. He rather not give Lestrade the pleasure of thinking that he held any power over him, which he didn't, of course. He narrowed his eyes up at the slightly darkened patch of ceiling that was directly above his head, before letting out a loud groan and sitting upright, pulling himself off the couch, tossing the back of his blue dressing gown back rather dramatically as he rose and, not even bothering to move around the coffee table, stepped up onto it and hopped down onto the other side, strolling across to the furthest window to pull the lace curtain back, glaring down at the street below.

How easy it was for them all, he thought bitterly as he watched a divorced banker in his late forties walk passed the front of Baker Street's door, favouring his right leg, due to having suffered an injury to his knee as a result of a bad car accident in his early twenties. They couldn't possibly even begin to imagine all the things that they are missing, so busy thinking about themselves or their next romantic entanglement to even pause for a moment to look up and see, to use their brains properly. They were all idiots and for that reason alone, perhaps, it was better that they didn't, though it certainly would make his life better if he didn't have to live a world that was constantly filled with useless noise.

He roughly shut the lace curtain once more, tugging it a little too hard in his foul mood before he turned around to face the living room of his flat, searching for something, anything, to do. John wasn't here for him to be able to pester, he had left the day before to go and visit his sister, who had suffered yet another relapse, though why John felt the need to go rushing off to see her Sherlock didn't know. She would end up doing it again, after all, if any one should know an addict, it was him, though, he personally wouldn't consider himself to be an addict. That would rather imply that he didn't have control over his addiction, which was completely untrue.

His eyes landed on a small clock that was sitting on one of the shelves by the fireplace and he frowned, reading the time. It was after eleven and Amelia hadn't been seen, which was very strange for her. She always had breakfast in his flat, regardless of what day or whether or not John was away, in fact, since she had first moved next door to them, the one and only time that she hadn't popped by before ten in the morning was when she had an early morning appointment with her hairdresser that she hadn't been able to get any later. She was always up by eight in the morning, even if she had slept poorly, it was her routine. Awake by seven thirty in the morning, shower, dressed, and hair and makeup done by eight, and sitting at their breakfast table by no later than nine with a cup of tea and a plate of runny eggs and two pieces of bacon. Every single morning, that was how it was, but not today, it would seem.

He felt himself grow annoyed with himself again, forcefully dragging his eyes off the small clock. Why was he even wasting his time thinking about Amelia's morning habits? He could practically hear John's amused little voice in the back of his head, saying that it was all because they were friends and being concerned about a friend was perfectly normal, but not for Sherlock, it wasn't. At least, not when it came to Amelia, anyway. They had only really become friends in the last few months and besides, Amelia was a grown woman, more than capable of taking care of herself, it was perfectly logical to just simply say that Amelia had decided to have breakfast in her own flat and had gotten stuck watching one of her absurd TV shows. Except…this was Amelia and Amelia very rarely ever changed anything from her usual routine.

He huffed and stormed around to sit down his armchair, his dressing gown whirling around him as he sat heavily and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes moving to rest on the closed landing door. No, he was not in the slightest bit worried about Amelia and why she might not have made an appearance in his flat, not in the slightest bit. This was exactly what he had been wanting, wasn't it? For Amelia to stop turning up in his flat, lounging around on his furniture, reading her fashion magazines and annoying him with her little remarks that he found to be beyond infuriating. The idea that he could have actually have grown to be in any way fond of having her constantly hanging around his flat was absurd to him, regardless of what the traitors little voice in his head that sounded like Mycroft whispered. He was in no way fond of Amelia, not at all.

Still…as the minutes slipped by and the longer he sat, his eyes fixed on the back of the landing door, the more his concern began to increase and a slight tightness began to grow in his chest. He blamed it on the fact that he hated it when people defied their usual habits, that Amelia, who he was so used to acting and being a certain way, was not following by his previous deductions about her behaviour. But then again, shouldn't that also be a good thing? This way he could try and relieve the boredom by figuring out what she was doing, except, he wasn't bored, not since he had realised that Amelia hadn't made an appearance. No, he thought with a scoff, he was just _concerned_.

He threw the clock another quick look to see that it was very nearly twelve and found himself unable to remain in his living room any longer. He needed to know exactly what could be keeping Amelia, trying to excuse his need as just simply being frustrated by his own inability to figure out just what or where she might have disappeared off to. He rose from his chair and paused to pull his dressing gown off, dropping it back down into his vacated chair as he reached up to button his blazer around his middle, giving it a little tug to straighten it. He walked across to the landing door and pulled it open, stepping out onto the small landing and across to the door leading between his flat and Amelia's. He lightly knocked and waited, but when no reply came, he simply reached out and grasped the handle, opening the door.

His eyes landed on Amelia almost at once. She was curled up on her leather sofa, her head propped up on a pillow that had obviously come from off her bed, while a thin, pale blue throw rug was half hanging off her, mostly on the ground. She was still dressed in her pyjamas, a thin pair of cotton trousers that looked better suited for summer then the chill of the last few days of early spring, while her top was just a thin T-shirt that didn't even match with the trousers. She was fast asleep, from what little that he could make out from her pale face, her hair looking worse than he had ever seen it before. Some of it was even stuck to her forehead by what looked like sweat.

It wasn't difficult to conclude that the reason for why Amelia hadn't make an appearance today was because she was sick, judging by the sheen of sweat on her pale face and the lack of her usual careful care in her own appearance. He considered leaving her be and returning to his own flat, but something held him back. Perhaps it was John's doing, but it didn't sit entirely comfortably on him to imagine leaving Amelia behind while she was clearly quite ill, though he couldn't imagine what he could possibly do for her, nor did he find the idea of staying to be any more appealing than the idea of leaving her be. Sickness and caring after others was not something that came naturally for him, after all, John was the doctor in the group and he was off, visiting his sister. He was certainly going to have something to say to him about leaving him behind to try and care for a sick Amelia. This was not what he signed up for when he asked her to work with him, far from it.

Sherlock sighed and carefully stepped further into the room, leaning down to pick up a TV remote from where it had fallen onto the floor by the sofa, switching the still softly playing television off. She must have gotten up in the middle of the night and fallen asleep in front of the TV while it played, or perhaps, and this was even more likely, she had simply fallen asleep in front of the TV after leaving from his flat the night before, after having eaten dinner with him. He didn't recall her being unwell, though she had complained around having a slight tickle in her throat and not quite feeling herself. He grimaced as he sat the remote back down on the coffee table, making a mental note to be sure to sanitise his hands when he got the chance, before he moved to stand over Amelia.

"Amelia," he tried calling, watching her carefully. She stirred for a moment, before nestling herself even more comfortably into her pillow. He huffed in annoyance and reached out to give her arm a light shake, frowning slightly as his fingers brushed against her overly warm skin, "Amelia, wake up!" he said louder.

Amelia gave a pathetic little moan and slowly open her heavy eyes, squinting weakly up at him, "Sherlock?" she asked in a congested murmur, before breaking off with an awful, bark like cough that even made Sherlock wince very slightly. She looked back up at him again, her eyes watering, "Sorry, I took my contacts out, having a bit of trouble seeing clearly…"

"I imagine," he said dryly, eyeing her. She truly did look quite pathetic, though he couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit sorry for her. Not that he would ever admit to that, not ever.

She gave another cough and sniffed, or rather tried to through her nose, finding that she was rather unable to do so, in her congested state, "I'm sick," she told him.

"That is very obvious," he shifted slightly awkwardly, not knowing what to do. John would know, he realised with a small jolt, "I'll call John," he said a little overly eagerly, reaching into his pocket for his phone and turning his back on her.

"Oh, don't bother him. Leave him be, it's just a little cold".

A little cold that he would likely end up having to help take care of due to her being to unwell to properly care for herself, given the state she was in right now. He supposed that he could have tried to get Mrs Hudson to care for her, even possibly Molly, but neither of them were here right now, sadly. He ignored her as he pulled his phone from his inner blazer pocket and scrolled through his contact list, easily finding John's number. There was a few benefits to not having many friends, his contacts list was barely six names long.

He dialled the number and pressed the phone to his ear, turning back around to see Amelia struggling to pull herself into a sitting position, her back propped up by her pillow as she grabbed the rug, wrapping it tightly around her middle and arms. Her hair looked even worse now that she was sitting up, knotted and tangled around her head as it hung limply from sweat and not having been washed. He had never payed much attention to attractiveness or physical beauty when it came to women, but he did recognise the concept of beauty when he saw it, such as with Amelia. She was always very well dressed and always ensured that she was fashionable and groomed, her facial features, height, and build the type that was considered to be beautiful by society that they lived in, but right now she was a far cry from being considered 'beautiful'. He felt certain that if she wasn't so horribly sick right now, she probably would have been beyond mortified to think that anyone would be seeing her in such a state.

"Sherlock," John's voice came over the phone, pulling him from his thoughts. He sounded mildly exasperated, likely due to the stress of trying to talk his sister into getting help, or so Sherlock imagined, "What is it? If you've called to get me to come home just to hand you another bloody pen…"

Ah, yes, he'd forgotten about that text message from the day before, though why John felt the need to send him a message telling him what he could do with that pen, was quite unneeded in his mind, "It's not about a pen," he told him, his voice level as he rolled his eyes, "Amelia's ill. I need you…"

"I can't come all the way back now, Sherlock, just to take care of Amelia. I'm on the late train tonight, so you'll just have to do the friendly thing and manage with her on your own".

Sherlock released a long breath and turned away from Amelia, glaring at a painting on the wall that looked more like smudges to him, but he estimated would probably have cost a small fortune to purchase, "And how, exactly, am I supposed to…" he pulled a face, "… _care_ for Amelia".

John sighed loudly on the other end, sounding exasperated, but when he spoke, Sherlock could easily detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "It's probably just a virus, but if you're so concerned about her…"

"I'm not concerned," he said at once, frowning deeply, "Why would I be concerned?"

"Well, you did just call me to try and get me to come all the way back to London, just because Amelia's sick, which does suggest concern to me…"

"Don't be absurd, I was just…" he trailed off, still frowning as it hit him that, yes, actually, he had felt concern and not just because he knew that he would end up having to take care of Amelia, since she didn't seem to be completely capable of even getting herself a drink right now. He had felt concern when she hadn't dropped in to his flat this morning, which he supposed had been what had prompted him to come and see her in the first place, but regardless, the idea that he might actually be feeling concern for Amelia really didn't sit well with him.

"Sherlock," Amelia called over to him, making him turn around to see her looking blurry eyed at him, still squinting slightly without her contacts, "It's fine, honestly. I don't need you to be my nursemaid, even if it's kind of sweet…" Sherlock threw her a dark look, which she seemed to ignore or quite likely didn't even see properly, "Just go back to your flat and do whatever it was you were doing before, I can look after myself".

"She does sound pretty congested," John's voice said in Sherlock's ear, "Check her temperature, make sure she keeps the fluids and painkillers up, other than that there's really not much that even I could do".

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Thank you for your helpfulness," he said sarcastically, ending the call without waiting to hear John's response, which he expected would be annoyed and offended.

"Rude," Amelia accused him, sniffing.

He gave her a cool, level look, "It's amazing how even when sick, you still manage to be annoying".

She gave him a very weak smile, "You're on a roll today, Holmes," she remarked hoarsely, "Just how many of your friends can you try and make mad in minutes?"

He didn't bother responding to that, instead he asked, "When was the last time you had medication?"

Amelia cast the clock on the wall behind her a fleeting look, though judging by the frown on her face, Sherlock doubted if she was even able to read it right now without her contacts on, "Um…I got up at about…two, three, maybe, this morning," she said slowly, struggling to remember, "I took a cold and flu tablet then, which made me sleepy…"

"Which means that you're well and truly overdue for medication," he surmised, and walked off into her kitchen before she could respond, finding a packet of cold and flu tablets already left lying messily on the counter, along with a box of cough lozenges and an empty glass. He grabbed the glass and filled it with cold water from out of a jug in the fridge, before he popped out two daytime cold and flu tablets, pausing to also grab the thermometer that he found up in Amelia's medicine cupboard and slipping it into his pocket, before returning to the living room.

"Should I ask how you've come to know the layout of my kitchen cupboards?" Amelia asked as she took the glass of water and the two tablets.

"Just have your pills".

She coughed into her arm, almost spilling the water onto herself as she did so, "Thank you," she muttered as she popped both pills into her mouth and took a large gulp of water, swallowing it down with a grimace as she took another couple of sips of water, apparently finding it difficult to swallow at the moment.

"John instructed me to take you temperature," Sherlock told her, taking the thermometer from his pocket. She sat the glass down the coffee table and pushed her messy hair back from the left side of her face, allowing him to take her temperature via her ear. The device beeped after less than twenty seconds and he removed it, checking the small digital screen, "Thirty eight degrees".

"Bit high," Amelia sighed, "No wonder I feel so bloody awful. The cold and flu tablets ought to kick in fifteen minutes from now, though," she pushed the thin blanket off herself and swung her legs over the side of the sofa, bracing her arm on the side of the couch as she rose. She wobbled slightly, closing her eyes tightly, and Sherlock reacted automatically by reaching out to grab her arm and help steady her, "Thanks," she opened her eyes to look at him, "Bit dizzy".

"Where do you think you're going?"

"My room. My chiropractor will probably lecture me as it is about sleeping on my couch and I'd rather not end up getting a migraine from a sore neck".

She started to unsteadily walk towards the hallway leading down to the rest of her flat, while Sherlock walked just behind her, watching her carefully in case she got dizzy again because she didn't seem very coordinated right now, though he did still wonder why he was still here when he had already made sure that she had her medication and there wasn't anything else that he could do. Still, he continued to follow her, even into her bedroom where her bedcovers were tossed all over the place and there was a few pillows littering the floor. He paused slightly uncomfortably at the end of her bed as she climbed beneath her thin pale grey sheet and propped herself up slightly on the pillow.

"Sherlock…" she hesitated slightly, toying with the edge of her blanket, "Are you busy?"

Sherlock gave her a look, "Do you think I'm busy?"

She smiled faintly, "Right, well…" she paused again, biting her dry bottom lip, "I don't suppose you'd mind staying with me for a while, then? I'll probably fall asleep soon," she added hastily, "And I don't really want to talk much, given my throat at the moment, but if we could maybe just watch something together I'd be really grateful for the company".

Sherlock stared at her, quite surprised by her request. He had to admit that their friendship had come a long way since they had first started working together and while he did find her to be very annoying at times, there was also times when he actually found himself enjoying being around her, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. He found it hard enough admitting that to himself, let alone anyone else. Still, the fact that Amelia wanted him to spend time with her while she was sick was very unexpected to him, he would have imagined that she would have preferred to be left alone right now.

"I…" he trailed off, blank. His first response was to find a way to deny her request and leave as quickly as possible for the safety of his flat, away from her germs and illness, possibly phoning for Molly to come and see Amelia instead, but he just couldn't seem to get the words out to tell her no. He shifted slightly on the spot, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have Molly come?"

"You make me sound like a clingy child," Amelia sniffed, reaching over to grab a tissue out of the tissue box on her bedside table, dabbing at her nose, "I only ask you, Sherlock, because you're here right now and, like you said, you don't have anything else to do".

"I never said I didn't have anything to do".

"Glaring at people walking passed and staring up at the ceiling doesn't count," Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, annoyed that she was able to read him as well as she could, but before he could open his mouth to try and correct her, she continued, "I mean, if you don't want to stay I'll understand. I probably wouldn't want to stay near my germy riddled flat if I didn't have to, either. But…" she looked back up to him, looking brighter then she had since he had first found her sleeping on her sofa, the medication apparently kicking in at last, "I really would be grateful for the company".

He frowned slightly, weighing up his options. He could return to his own flat and, well, do what? Play the violin? That would disturb her if she managed to fall asleep again, though why he was even caring about that right now, he didn't know. He didn't have any cases to work on, the idea of watching day time television made him want to poke his own eyes out, and he didn't currently have any experiments in mind to work on. Then, of course, he could stay with Amelia and wait until she either fell asleep or needed more medicine in four hours times. As far as he was concerned, right now none of those ideas seemed appealing in the least bit, but he supposed that staying with Amelia would mean that he would have an active audience to be able to bounce ideas off, even if she didn't wish to talk back.

"If I agree to stay here," he eyed Amelia carefully, "I get to pick what we watch".

Amelia nodded quickly, smiling, "Deal," she grabbed the TV remote from off her bedside table and absently pattered the bed beside her as she switched on the small flat-screen TV that was mounted to the wall directly facing the bed, sitting perfectly raised to be watched when lying down, "Come and sit down, Holmes, get comfortable".

Sherlock wasn't entirely pleased with the idea of lying anywhere near Amelia right now, let alone in her bedroom and on her bed, but he still moved to slightly awkwardly perch himself on the edge of the bed beside her.

"Oh, yes, you look very comfortable," she remarked, watching him with an amused expression.

He shot her a quick look and undid his shoelaces, before kicking his shoes off and moving to try and sit up against the fabric covered headboard and pillows, feeling very stiff as he fixed his eyes straight onto the TV screen ahead of him, watching as she changed the channel several times, not one channel the slightest bit appealing in his mind. When she stopped on one channel that seemed to have some sort of crime drama on it, he narrowed his eyes and glanced at her to see her raising an eyebrow at him, smiling slightly.

"Problem, Holmes?"

"We're not watching this rubbish," he told her with a glare.

"Oh, but it's good," she insisted quickly, "They talk about unsolved cases and then recreate them".

"Just like every other so called crime show," he scoffed.

"We don't even have to watch it," she shook her head and turned the already low volume down until it was barely a whisper in the room. She sank further down on her pillows and yawned, her eyes slipping closed, "You know, Sherlock," she muttered after a long moment, making him look back to her, "You really can be quite sweet at times".

Sherlock looked away from her again, frowning at the screen, "You're sick and currently taking strong cold and flu medication," he said lightly, "I don't think you're truly in a fit state of mind, Amelia".

"If you didn't care, you wouldn't have come to check up on me and you wouldn't have stayed to help me, nor would you have tried to get John to come back".

"I wanted John back so that he could take care of you".

"Exactly. If you didn't care, you wouldn't have bothered, and I really do appreciate that you did stay to try and help me".

Sherlock remained silent, not knowing what to do or say, he wasn't even sure how he was supposed to feel right now about this. He'd never been called 'sweet' before, not even close. It was a very strange sensation. He glanced over to Amelia when she didn't say anything for a few minutes, only to find that she was fast asleep with the TV remote held limply in her hand in the mused sheets and with her mouth slightly open, since she was unable to breathe properly through her nose. He shook his head and looked back to the TV, ideally watching the images flash across the screen, not willing to pick up the germ riddled remote right now or to leave. Slowly, he felt his own eyes start to grow droopy and tired, and he allowed himself to be consumed by sleep.

…...

"Sherlock!" John called as he moved up the stairs of Baker Street, carrying a small travel case. He paused in the doorway of the living room as he reached the landing, sitting his bag down on the floor as he peered inside, the room completely empty and dark with none of the lights on or a single sign of Sherlock anywhere, "Sherlock?" he tried again as he moved to check the kitchen, then the bathroom and even Sherlock's bedroom, but there was no sign of the curly haired pain anywhere.

John moved back onto the landing and paused as he noticed the door between their flat and Amelia's was slightly open. Surely Sherlock wasn't still with Amelia? That had been hours ago now. Still, curiosity as to just where his flatmate might have gone made him lightly knock on the door and push it open, peering into Amelia's living room, which was just as empty as Baker Streets and more messy then he was used to seeing it. A glass of water had been left sitting on the coffee table, along with a mused blanket on the couch and a box of tissues that had several used ones rolled up into balls scattered around the box.

"Sherlock?" he said loudly, stepping further into the room, "Amelia?" he waited, but still no one answered back. He feared for a moment that perhaps Amelia had been sicker then he had thought and had been taken to hospital, but he doubted it. Amelia was very healthy and still quite young, she took good care of herself, he doubted that she would be in hospital. He felt a little awkward about moving around Amelia's flat without her permission, but he thought he had a grasp of the basic layout of the flat and so he quietly made his way down the hallway.

His eyes landed on where a door at the end of the hallway was left slightly ajar, "Amelia?" he whispered, feeling almost like a criminal, sneaking around in someone else's house, "Sherlock?" he approached the door and lightly tapped his knuckles against the smooth wooden surface, before edging it open and peering inside, finding the room to be completely black, save for the light coming off the TV screen that was playing over the bed, no sound coming from it. But it wasn't the TV that really caught his attention, it was the fact that Sherlock was lying on top of the blankets of Amelia's bed, while Amelia herself was curled up under the sheets on her side of the bed, both fast asleep.

John stared at the sight of them sleeping in the same bed, unable to quite believe what he was witnessing, nor could he even begin to try and figure out how Amelia had managed to convince Sherlock to stay with her in the first place. It was truly a sight that he never imagined he would come across, but what should he do? He considered taking a picture of them, but decided not to in the end, afraid he might wake them. So, instead, he carefully slipped out of the doorway and closed the door behind him, smiling to himself as he headed back to his own flat to get unpacked. He'd wait until Sherlock woke up to say something, until then, he'd savour the memory and figure out what to try and do with it to get back at Sherlock for his rudeness during the phone call.

 _ **So this is set just after Baskerville, but before the Fall and it was referenced to by John during chapter one of 'Until We Meet Again'. I mentioned that I really wanted to write a story of one-shots for Sherlock, just like with my Doctor Who series and here we are. This story will feature one-shots from throughout the stories and possibly even mini-stories with two or three chapters long that feature stories based on the case's on John's blog that I really, really want to turn into stories with Amelia in. Oh, and I should also tell my American readers that 38 degrees Celsius's translates into 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit, since I personal always find it annoying when I quite figure out what the temperature it supposed to mean when it's in Fahrenheit while I'm reading a story.**_

 _ **If you have any suggestions for one-shot ideas, I would love to hear them and see what I can do in regards to writing them. I hope you liked the first chapter, tell me what you thought. I really hope Sherlock was in character, it's the first time I've written a chapter that's told mostly from his point of view with his thoughts featuring quite heavily. Please review :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 Tying Up Loose Ends

_**Tying Up Loose Ends**_

 _ **Featuring: Amelia, Robert Cook, and Sherlock.**_

 _She could still feel the sensation on her lips, feel the way that his hair had felt twisting between her fingers, the way he had held her so tightly against his chest that it should have felt suffocating, but it wasn't. Her heart had pounded in her chest and she had felt dizzy, but she hadn't wanted to stop, not for a second, ignoring the burning of her lungs and the struggle to not pull away…_

Amelia woke with a start, her eyes snapping open before she quickly closed them again, wincing as the light above her head hit her directly in the face, blinding her tired eyes. She slowly opened her eyes and sat up in her seat, feeling her cheeks burning from the embarrassment of dropping off to sleep like that on the train and the memory of what she had been dreaming about before, which had been terribly vivid, as though it had been real…well, mostly real, she supposed. It had been less then twelve hours since she and Sherlock had decided to actually try to take their relationship to the next level. She wasn't sure if they would be able to do it without killing one another, they surely had to be insane to even be considering it, given that they worked together and so far that had worked out pretty well, why complicate matters by dating? But she couldn't stop the way she felt about him, as much as she hated it because it made her feel like she was a teenager all over again.

She wondered briefly what Sherlock's thoughts were on it all, after everything that had happened the night before with Sherlock actually wanting them to try and be more then friends, she had felt so awkward and unsure of exactly what to do or say, she had ended up making the excuse of still needing to pack to escape back upstairs to her new bedroom. She had seen him only briefly before leaving to catch her early train that morning, he usually slept later then her, unless they had a case, but this time he had apparently made a bit of an effort and gotten up in time to see her off, though it was still rather awkward. They hadn't kissed or hugged, as one might expect for two people who were dating, he had wished her a safe train ride and offered to help her get her luggage into the back of the cab. Not that she had really expected for more of a send off, she probably wouldn't have known how to react if he had tried to kiss her goodbye or something like that, it felt to…domestic for Sherlock, to ordinary.

She did, however, wonder if she ought to have asked him to come with her to York, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind then she dismissed it. This was her journey that she had to take, she needed to tie up some loose ends, after all, she had spent two years living in the tight-knit village and come to know pretty much everyone who lived in the area, she had made friends with people during those years of being Jessica Holmes and now she needed to try and make amends. She was dreading it, really, but she knew it had to be done. They deserved that much from her.

Amelia looked out across to the window running along side of the train, fields passing by the window as they moved through the British countryside. They would be arriving at her stop soon and she would have to freshen herself up once she got there, she rather hoped her short nap hadn't caused her eyeliner to smudge to badly, she supposed the good thing about being away from London was the fact that she was also escaping the press that had been following them around ever since she and Holmes had held the official press conference to announce that they truly were still alive. Thinking about it, her eyes came to land on the folded up newspaper that she had grabbed before boarding the train that morning, sighing to herself as she grabbed it and flattened it out on the table, her own face splashed across the front page with Sherlock standing beside her, John standing on his other side, but the picture was mostly focused on herself and Sherlock, capturing the two of them mid-glance with one another. They seriously did need to be more careful about how they looked at one another in future, no wonder the media loved to make such a fuss over the two of them being involved, even when they hadn't been.

Unable to stomach seeing her own picture splashed across the front page any longer, she folded it back up and placed the paper back down on the other side, grabbing her phone out of her handbag beside her instead, pleased with the distraction of online clothing shopping, at least the fashion websites were safe.

…

An hour and a half later, Amelia had left her train and collected her hire car, driving the rest of the short distance from the station to the village that she had spent the past few years hiding away in. She soon arrived at the cottage and settled in as if she had never left, but somehow it all did feel different. Everything was exactly as she had left it the morning that Mycroft had sent the helicopter to take her to London, but there was a different sensation in the air, like she didn't quite belong in it. She felt like she was intruding upon someone else's space, which was totally absurd, since it had been her home for two years, but it hadn't been, had it? Not really, because all of this had been Jessica Holmes's, from the collection of simple, cheap pencil skirts and blouses in the wardrobe upstairs to the comfortable sofa in the living room that still had the coffee stain on the back of one of the cushions after she had sneezed, rather unfortunately, with an overly full cup in hand one morning. All of it had been someone else's, not hers, not Amelia Wilson, who probably owned shoes that cost more than Jessica's entire wardrobe would cost priced together. It was so odd, looking around and feeling caught between feeling home and alien.

She settled her bags down in the small entrance and looked around, wondering what to do with everything. She had already decided to rent out the cottage, since Mycroft had bought it under Jessica's Holmes's name, which was currently in the process of being legally changed over to her name, though all of that would probably take a little while. Legal matters did tend to drag on, though she hoped that Mycroft might speed things up, if she was extra nice to him the next time she saw him and maybe baking him a cake would also help, she'd have to ask Sherlock about it when she got back to London. But until then, she thought it would be best to pack everything up and place it all in storage, she could then hire someone local to come by every few days to check on the place when she was in London, just until the pesky legal matters were resolved, anyway.

She had just began to pull her coat off to hang it up on the hooks by the door, when her phone dinged, singling she had a message. She fished it out of her handbag and rolled her eyes at the message flashing across the screen:

 _Need milk, S.H._

"Honestly, Sherlock…" she muttered to herself in exasperation, quickly texting back to get it himself. She had barely finished sending the message before he replied back, obviously having been waiting.

 _Oh, and we need more teabags and bread, S.H._

She rolled her eyes, texting back: _I'm in Yorkshire, do your own shopping_.

His reply followed almost instantly: _Never mind, Mrs Hudson is going out, S.H_.

Amelia sighed loudly and shook her head, slipping her phone away in her pocket. Was it a good sign that she already felt the urge to whack him over the head less then twelve hours into their romantic relationship? Probably not, but at least she didn't have to worry about getting milk when she got back.

….

The next day, Amelia dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a black button up blouse that had tiny sequins stitched into the collar, tucking the shirt into her jeans. She had tried to tone down her usually more expensive tastes to something better suited to the countryside, but after years of having a rather selective wardrobe to choose from, she felt like a kid in a candy shop every time she opened her own wardrobe back in London, filled with an array of designer clothing that she had positively dreamed about during her years away. She simply hadn't been able to stop herself from dressing up more so then she probably ought to have, but then again, it wouldn't be her if she didn't dress up and wear totally impractical heeled ankle boots.

Of course, she had more important matters to deal with then what outfit she wore, she had people to see and her first destination was the school she had worked at her. She managed to avoid seeing any of the other teachers, arriving just after the morning bell had gone, though it had still been terribly awkward to meet with the headmaster and formally give her resignation. The looks she had received from the office staff had made her cringe, but she was pleased to manage to get in and out as quickly as possible without really speaking to anyone, she couldn't imagine what the headmaster must have thought to learn that she wasn't even, technically, a teacher at all. In her defence, she had played the role brilliantly and she had taught the kids a lot about music, though she just didn't have the university degree to go along with being a teacher, so there was that…she half expected to end up getting arrested, anyone else probably would. She _so_ owed Mycroft that cake.

After the school, she quickly made her rounds around the rest of the village, mindful to avoid the vet clinic at the end of the village and instead focusing on the few shops and local pub. She hadn't made many friends, she only really had one, but she had come to know pretty much everyone very well. The shocked and angry look's that she got from people was horrible, but she kept her head high, having been expecting the reaction. She was quite shocked, however, when a few people that she ran into actually didn't seem to be overly upset, more excited than anything to learn that they had a celebrity living amongst them for all this time, though Amelia would hardly consider herself to be a celebrity, she had been grateful to know that she wasn't completely hated by everyone.

Of course, by the time that the afternoon had rolled around, Amelia hadn't been able to find any other reason for avoiding the one person who deserved her apology most of all. She had stayed up half the night thinking of what to say and wondering how he might react, but she knew it wouldn't be good. She wondered again, as she began to approach the painted red door of his cottage, her heels crunching in the gravel and very nearly unbalancing her a few times, if she should have asked Sherlock to come with her after all. It was cowardly, perhaps, but she was scared of how he might react, he was her friend, after all, and she knew that this news would upset him most of all, not just because of the friendship but because of his feelings for her. She couldn't help feeling grateful that the press didn't know that she and Sherlock really were dating now, that would make things even worse.

She stopped outside the door, her bright pink clutch beneath her arm, staring at the door, her heart pounding and a sickening feeling sweeping through her stomach. She closed her eyes and clenched her hands together, her French manicured nails digging into the flesh of her palms until it actually began to hurt and she forced her hands to relax. Would he slam the door in her face? Would he shout at her? Would he demand that she leave his doorstep and never return? The thoughts rushed through her mind as she reached up to grasp the door knocker, knocking it three times against the door before she could lose her nerve completely, the sound far too loud in her ears.

The wait for him to open the door felt like forever, the light breeze in the air gently tugging at her black trench coat and her mostly down hair, but then the doorhandle was twisting and she struggled to compose her expression before the door swung open and he stepped into view, staring back at her with startled brown eyes, shock crossing his face before it swiftly faded. Neither spoke, simply looking at one another, and Amelia could practically feel his eyes taking in everything about her, from her brown hair to her heeled boots that Jessica Holmes would never have worn, more of a flats girl.

"So…" Amelia said awkwardly after the silence became unbearable, shifting beneath his gaze, but it was nothing compared to how Sherlock was able to look almost straight through people. She cleared her throat, glancing down, "I'm guessing you've seen the news?"

Robert crossed his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes, "Yeah, imagine my surprise to see _you_ on it…" he said mockingly, his eyes icy, but Amelia refused to flinch, meeting his eyes firmly, "I didn't even recognise you at first, then I figured I must just be seeing things, since there was no way that Jessica, _my_ Jess, would actually be some supposedly dead detective. But no…" he shook his head, uncrossing his arms to wave his hand at her, "Here you are, proof".

Amelia sighed, biting her lip nervously, "Would you mind if we did this inside?" she asked hopefully, really not wishing to have to do this on his doorstep, almost in the middle of the village.

"I don't even know who you are, why would I invite you into my home?"

"Because…because you deserve a proper explanation, not just something you've read in the paper or online".

He considered it for a moment, she could read it on his face, Robert had always been so easy to read. After a few seconds, he released a breath and stepped aside from the door, allowing her to pass over the threshold and into the long entrance hall, which had a staircase leading up to the upper floors and two doors, one leading to the back of the cottage and into the kitchen, she knew, while the second door that branched off at the base of the staircase lead into the cosy living room. Robert led her into the sitting room and carelessly moved to sit on an armchair positioned so it was sitting on an angle towards the small TV unit in the corner of the room, while a sofa was pushed up against one wall and a wooden coffee table littered with newspapers and a open laptop was in the middle of the room, closing to the armchair then it usually was, from Amelia's memory.

As she moved to sit on the couch, she managed to catch a look of the computer screen, wincing at an image of herself, Sherlock, and John that was enlarged on the screen, taken from back when they first became famous. It was one of the pictures the press had used to first bring to light the possibility of her and Sherlock dating, with a large red circle crudely drawn around Amelia's hand on Sherlock's arm, though the press weren't to know that she had actually been trying to keep him still for the picture. God, she hated all of those pictures, they were so embarrassing and completely untrue, she still hadn't forgiven Lestrade for his little prank with the scarf and love heart badge from years ago.

"I see you've been doing your homework," Amelia sighed, settling awkwardly onto the edge of the couch cushions, gripping her knees, more to try and stop herself from tapping her feet against the floor, as she was prone to do when uncomfortable.

Robert glanced at the screen and reached out to close the laptops lid, before falling back against his seat, crossing his arms almost protectively against his chest, "Figured I should find out who you actually are," he said coolly, "Apparently, I'm one of the only people in Britain who had never heard of you and that hat guy…"

Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh, settling for a strained smile, "Sherlock hate's that hat," she remarked lightly, picturing Sherlock's grimace right now.

"Well, you certainly seem to like his scarf…" she winced ay that, the bitter edge in his tone, mixed with a hint of accusing.

"Not exactly by choice," she told him, reaching up to rub her forehead, already feeling a dull ache start building in her left temple. It would be rather difficult to try and explain the reason for the whole scarf thing, made all the more harder when she could tell that Robert really wasn't interested in hearing all about the back-story or her reasoning's for why she was photographed wearing Sherlock's scarf so frequently by the press. She cast her eyes over the papers littering the coffee table again, releasing a long sigh, "You really shouldn't take anything the press claims to be true, half the stories are made up or twisted in some way".

"Including John Watson's blog?"

"John's…a romantic," she said, sounding far more lame then she had intended. It _had_ sounded good in her head, even if she didn't exactly believe it herself, knowing perfectly well that John's blog was written quite realistically, sticking to the facts of what actually happened and what John experienced, rather than falling into the trap of embellishing things to make them more interesting to the public, even if some cases probably did sound farfetched.

Robert raised his eyebrows at her, clearly not buying it, "He's a solider".

"And he also has terrible taste in jumpers, my point is…" she paused, taking a deep breath as she forced herself to meet his eyes, "If you want to know about me, about all of this…" she waved her hand towards the papers and magazines on the coffee table, not looking away from him, "Then ask me, don't use a secondary source".

He stared at her for a long moment, tension hanging heavy in the air between them as Amelia waited, wondering what he would actually ask first, "Alright," he eventually nodded, unfolding his arms and draping them on top of his armchairs armrests, "Alright…" he watched her closely for a moment, forcing Amelia to resist against the urge to shift, "First question, you and…" he pulled a face, waving a hand at his closed laptop, "…the hat guy…"

"Sherlock," Amelia corrected him, almost automatically, making him narrow his eyes slightly. She didn't need to hear the end of his question to know what he was asking her, what he wanted to know, "Look, Robert, Sherlock and I work together," she explained carefully, shifting slightly on the edge of the couch, "All that stuff about him and I dating, it was all rubbish. Honestly, back then, we were lucky to even be in the same room as each other without annoying one another in some way".

"Past tense," he frowned, his tone growing sharper.

Of course he had caught that, she had expected him to, he was intelligent and he was emotionally invested in this whole thing, every word she said would be closely analysed. His intelligence was one of the reasons for why they had gotten along so well, why, even though she hadn't allowed herself to develop any true romantic feelings for him, she could imagine that if she had perhaps never meet Sherlock and John, and instead, somehow, had meet Robert, that they might have had a relationship with one another. She wasn't sure if she believed the relationship would have truly lasted, she felt like she was perhaps a little to passionate for someone like Robert to be able to handle in the long run, and she knew already that her love for the city lifestyle she lived and her work would be a big issue for them had anything actually happened between them, but she thought that they probably would have had a nice time together for a year or two. No, friendship was better for them, even if nothing had happened between her and Sherlock, becoming involved romantically with Robert would never have ended well for either of them.

"Yes," Amelia agreed, refusing to allow herself to feel bad right now. She had no reason to feel guilty about being with Sherlock, no reason at all, "Sherlock and I…" she hesitated, searching for a way to put it, "Well…it's very new, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all, if I'm being honest".

"I see," Robert said slowly, his voice and expression carefully void of emotion, but his body language was very telling, his shoulders slumping and his hands briefly gripping the fabric of the armrests, "Why are you even here?" he suddenly frowned, shaking his head as he gave her an almost angry look, "Why come back here just to…" he stopped, looking quickly away from her as his cheeks flushed pink, seeming to feel as though he might have said to much.

"I owed you an explanation in person," she told him calmly, choosing to ignore his near slip, knowing what he was going to say. She would be a poor detective if she was unable to tell that he had fallen for her, but it wasn't _her_ that he had fallen for, it was Jessica Holmes. She was not that woman, aspects of her, perhaps, but at the heart of it Amelia was not Jessica, and Robert would only have been disappointed, "And…" she licked her lips, gripping her thighs tighter as she meet his eyes, "I owe you an apology…."

"An _apology_?" he cut across her sharply, staring at her in incredulously, "Two years you looked me in the eye, every single day, and continued to lie to me like it was nothing…"

"Nothing?" she couldn't help frowning at him, instantly feeling her annoyance start to rise. She was far from a victim in this whole thing and she took full responsibility for how she made Robert feel, what a terrible friend that she had been to him, but to say that it had been _nothing_ got under her skin. It had hardly been easy for her, living a double life and lying to everyone around her, she hadn't wanted to do any of it, "None of this was 'nothing' to me, this wasn't just some holiday, Robert," she shook her head, still frowning, "I don't take any of this lightly, okay? And I am sorry, for everything, all the lies and deception, but I did it to protect my friends. I will not apologise for _that_ ".

Silence settled over the room as Amelia found herself struggling to hold back a glare, desperately trying to remind herself that she probably didn't have any real right to be getting annoyed and snapping at Robert, not when she was in the wrong for this whole mess and the purpose for even speaking to him was to try and apologise. It wasn't exactly working out very well, but she hated the thought that people might actually think that it was easy for her to lie to people, she didn't blame people for thinking that way, given her history, but she didn't want people to think that way about her. It was probably silly, but she had enough of lies, even lies meant for good intentions, such as keeping those closest to her alive.

Robert climbed onto his feet, "It's nice to know you understand the concept of loyalty," he said in a cool, cutting tone that instantly made Amelia wince. He met her eyes, his expression completely blank, closed off, "Even if it apparently didn't extend to _me_ ".

She closed her eyes at that, reaching up to rub her forehead as a wave of guilt washed over her. She wished she had just kept her mouth shut now and hadn't allowed her own annoyance to get the better of her, he had a point. She hadn't shown him anything close to loyalty; she had been wrapped up in her own life. She didn't know what she expected, that his feelings for her would be enough to make him completely ignore what she had down to him? No, of course not, but she supposed that the reality of the situation was that she really hadn't considered it to deeply, she had simply been focused on waiting for Sherlock to turn up again so that she could go back to her old life, that had always been her intention, she just hadn't anticipated the fact that she might make a friend in the mean time.

"Robert…" she began, looking back up to him, wondering what she could even possibly say after a response like that.

Robert shook his head, his expression hard as he refused to look directly at her, his eyes on the white wall above the couch behind her head, "I think you should go," he told her, his voice tight, "And…don't bother calling me again".

Amelia snapped her mouth closed and swallowed, hard, feeling a weight drop into her stomach as she forced herself to slowly rise onto her feet, adjusting her coat around her and tucking her clutch beneath her arm, before moving to walk passed him and out of the living room door. She kept her head high as she left the cottage, the stones on the path outside crunching beneath her feet as she continued walking out onto the edge of the road. She hadn't expected them to be friends, but she had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he might have understood a little bit that she had lied to protect her friends and that it hadn't been personal, but she didn't blame him for wanting nothing to do with her. She just felt horribly sad and guilty, and all she wanted to do now was curl up in bed in London, pull the covers over her head and sleep for a week…possibly with some wine being involved, though she wasn't exactly a fan of drinking alone. Today had been a very bad day.

….

The fire crackled in the fireplace grating as Amelia sat curled up in the corner of her couch beneath a large, fluffy, deep blue blanket, already dressed in her pyjamas, even though it wasn't even six yet. She stared into the grating of the fire, watching the flames flicker and twirl around the logs of wood that she had struggled and very nearly broken a nail on to put into the grating in the first place, while a cup of tea sat on the coffee table, instead of the wine she had considered earlier. She felt awful about how everything had turned out between her and Robert, so much so that she had decided that she needed to leave the village as soon as possible, she believed she'd caused him enough pain and rather than possibly prologue it by running into him in the local shop or something, better she go. This was his home and she had no right to remain, not when her place was London, Baker Street now.

She sighed and pulled her eyes off the flames, instead wrapping the blanket tighter around her as she leaned towards the coffee table to grab her phone off the table, still so new after she was forced to replace her old one after the whole bonfire incident and losing her old one, her new one was still a slight adjustment. She hadn't even had the chance to custom everyone's ringtone yet, she was considering using 'Titanium' by David Guetta for John and 'Get Lucky' by Daft Punk for Sherlock, though it was hardly relevant at this point, she supposed she was probably just trying to find ways to cheer herself up and she did always find it rather amusing to custom ringtones for her friends.

She unlocked her phone, entering her pass code, four-five-seven-nine, not caring if using her own birth date was probably a stupid idea, she'd change it later, not that she had anything to hide. Her thumb hovered over the touch screen over Sherlock's name in her contact list, considering whether or not she should call him, before deciding that yes, she'd had a rubbish day and she really could use hearing a friendly voice for once, so she hit the tiny green phone beside his number and lifted the phone up to her ear, listening to the dial tone start. It barely gave two rings before he answered.

"Amelia," Sherlock's voice came over the sound, not bothering to say 'hello,' of course, like a normal person might.

"Hi," Amelia said, trying hard to sound a bit more cheerful, "So…uh, I was just calling to let you know I'll be back tomorrow afternoon," she told him, pulling herself into a sitting position and propping her feet up on top of the coffee table, mindful to avid accidently knocking her teacup, "I've decided to get the early train in the morning, I'll organise for someone to handle all the packing and storing of everything up here when I get back to London".

"I see. I take it things did not go well with Cook?"

"What makes you ask?"

"You're calling to inform me of something you ordinarily would text me about, if you even felt the need to tell me at all".

She shifted slightly, frowning at the drawn curtains directly ahead of her, wishing he really wasn't as observant as he was right now, "Perhaps I just wished to hear the sound f your voice," she replied, unable to help the hint of annoyance that laced her tone that he had seen through her so easily.

Sherlock scoffed on the other end, "Not even you are that grossly sentimental, Amelia".

"Fine," she huffed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back against the top of her couch cushions, "Today, with Robert, was a complete disaster," she opened her eyes, looking sadly up at the large, stained beam above her head, "He never wants to see or speak to me again, not that I blame him, of course, but…" she sighed loudly, wondering if she possibly should have called Molly instead of Sherlock, who probably could care less about any of this right now, "Well, I guess I really had no right to expect anything else".

There was a long pause, so long that Amelia actually had to check her phone screen to make sure that she hadn't lost the connection, when he finally said something, "And you feel…guilty?" he asked, sounding terribly unsure and bored.

Yep, so should have called Molly.

"Yes, Sherlock," she sighed, though she did feel pleased that he was making an effort when he was so clearly completely unsure about what to do. He was out of depth and, she imagined, probably not in the slightest bit concerned by any of it, but he was trying, lamely, but none the less trying.

"Right," he said slowly, another long pause of silence following, while Amelia waited, curious to hear if he might have anything else to say, "Are you…okay?" he questioned, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

Amelia almost laughed, picturing his probably grimacing expression right now while he internally struggled to figure out what to say or do, "I'm a little sad that it turned out this way," she told him, deciding that she was going to save him, though she was rather impressed and surprised by his attempt to be caring and, well, almost boyfriend-like, "But it's alright," she assured him lightly, smiling sadly, "Robert wasn't really my friend, after all, he was Jessica's. I'm not her".

"No, that blonde hair and practical shoes certainly didn't suit you".

That time she did laugh, smiling widely as she shook her head in amusement as her giggles died down, picturing his smirk right now, "I certainly don't miss any of that, I agree," she absently plucked a strand of brown hair up, curling it around her finger as she looked at it, delighted to have her natural hair colour back and not needing to fuss over regrowth and dye again, she had enough of that during her uni and teen years. She felt so much lighter now, still sad but lighter now that she had spoken to Sherlock, something she probably wouldn't have really expected two years ago to feel, or to even imagine that speaking to him might actually cheer her up, but it had. Just one simple teasing remark had been enough. She sank deeper into her blanket and cushions, smiling to herself still, "So, did you miss me, Holmes?"

Sherlock sighed loudly in a mix of exasperation and almost fondness, though she wasn't completely sure of that, not without seeing his expression, "I can't say I've missed sharing a bathroom with you," he said, "Why you feel the need to take thirty minutes to get ready…"

"Oh, shut up, Holmes," she rolled her eyes, smirking to herself. She couldn't wait to get back to Baker Street, back to where she belonged.

 _ **So how many of you thought I'd forgotten all about this story? I hadn't, I assure you, I simply have been so busy and the original one-shot I had began writing just didn't feel right when I was writing it, I felt like I was forcing myself when I really wanted to write this instead, so that's what I did. I began writing this and it kind of just happened from there. By the way, this is the first time we've actually got a mention of Amelia's birthday, I've so wanted to mention it before, but just couldn't find a way, so here it is May 4**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 1979 is her birthday, I picked the 4**_ _ **th**_ _ **because in the novels, that was the date that Professor Moriarty dies, so I figured it would be a nice tie back to the novels.**_

 _ **Oh, by the way, Amelia's outfit can be found on my Tumblr, Shoplook, and Pinterest page :)**_

 _ **I really wanted to make sure that I went back and tied up the loose end of Robert Cook, he truly did have real feelings for Amelia during those two years and I feel so sorry for him, he fell for the wrong woman at the wrong time. If only he had meet Amelia before, but then again, I personally feel like Amelia would have been too much for him to handle, I kind of picture Robert as being the type of guy to be happy to live in the country, away from the excessive lifestyle that Amelia enjoys, he'd probably have a stroke if he was dating Amelia and she bought a pair of shoes costing over a thousand pounds. No, I think Amelia is much better off with someone who teases her for her excessive shopping habits, rather than judge.**_

 _ **I hope you guys liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	3. Chapter 3 Dinner Date

_**Dinner Date**_

 _ **Featuring: Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson**_

She doesn't miss the way that his eyes remain glued to the menu before him, even though he had surely had more than enough time to not only read it fully, including the rather large and expensive range of wine's that the restaurant had to offer them, but also the entrees, mains, and deserts offered. He had to have memorised the entire thing by now, after all, he was Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective…well, almost one and only, Amelia was still getting used to the idea that she technically was one now herself, even if she still caught herself thinking of herself as being a private detective. So his fascination with reading the menu over and over again must have to do with something else.

Amelia observed him curiously from over the edge of her own glossy, leather backed menu. She truly did find him to be one of the most interesting people to watch, he was typically so carefully controlled in regards to his own thoughts or emotions, when he actually let something slip passed that controlled exterior of his it was rare but always so interesting to her to see. She imagined she was probably one of the only people who ever actually did manage to peek behind that curtain and see just what it was that Sherlock Holmes tried so hard to keep hidden from everyone, including himself, she thought. Even John, for his uncanny ability to be able to actually remain friends with herself and Sherlock and still somehow like them, so rarely ever noticed when Sherlock was lying about something, or when he was trying to conceal something from him and herself. But Amelia noticed, perhaps not all the time, but for the most part she could read Sherlock's intentions without too much difficulty.

Of course, he had managed to completely throw her off when he had suddenly asked her to have dinner with him. Oh, she hadn't missed the subtle, unspoken implication of it, Irene Adler was hardly the most subtle woman on the plant and all her hints about wanting to go out for 'dinner' during her one sided texting for the past several months hadn't gone without Amelia's notice, even if she would rather not wish to think about it. But Sherlock hadn't asked her to dinner with quite the same intentions in mind as Adler had…or Amelia was quite certain he hadn't, otherwise things were going to get very awkward…not that she didn't find Holmes attractive, of course, she did, she always had a thing for the intelligent, dark haired and high cheek boned guys, but there was a certain line that she felt shouldn't be crossed. Plus, it was Sherlock, when had he so much as glanced admiringly in the direction of any woman? No, Amelia felt she was quite better off not allowing herself to get mixed up with any of that.

She refused to allow herself to even go deeply down that path, she had dated a guy in her class in university and that had been bad enough when she'd ended it, she couldn't imagine that dating a friend, let alone a friend she also happened to work with, would be any less horrible to have to deal with if things didn't work out and she was far too old now to be naïve enough to imagine the what if's of what would happen if things might work out. It was perhaps a little too cynical of her to think that way, but she had become rather cynical about dating and love, even if Molly did try to change her mind with her ever hopeful and positive outlook on almost everything.

Across from her, Sherlock lightly turned the page of his menu, still looking utterly engaged in whatever he was reading. It made Amelia's eyebrow twitch, returning her attention back onto him and his curious behaviour. Absently, she closed her own menu and sat it on the table before her, reaching for the chilled glass of water sitting on the table to her right, carefully sipping it with well practice ease so that she didn't accidently end up ruining her red lipstick, nor end up accidently dripping any of it down the front of her fitted Dolce &Gabbana white dress with roses printed across the fabric. Now, what was going on with him? The menu certainly wasn't that interesting…and then it hit her.

He was completely and totally out of depth.

Amelia almost laughed at her own stupidity for not having caught on sooner, of course he was out of depth, he had probably rarely ever had dinner with anyone outside of a case before now. It made her all the more curious for why he had been the one to ask her to dinner in the first place, when he was so clearly uncomfortable. She lowered her glass back down onto the crisp white table cloth covering the rounded table they were sitting at. A part of her considered letting him drag on this whole charade of him pretending to read the menu while she acted as though she hadn't noticed, but she felt like that might be a bit cruel, given how obviously uncomfortable he surely must be feeling. So she carefully searched for a topic and found that one came easily to her.

"You know…" she began lightly, and she noted how his eyes snapped up from the menu at once, fixing steadily on her. Anyone else might have felt having his sudden attention placed upon them like that intermediating, but she wasn't so easily frightened, having a brother like James Moriarty tended to do that to someone, "I've always been rather curious about your name," she went on, "Sherlock is so unusual, I've never actually come across anyone with it for a first name. Not to mention Mycroft's name, you're parents must be very interesting people".

"Hardly," Sherlock scoffed, closing his menu and sitting it aside, clasping his hands together on the table before him, "They're dull, I assure you".

"Oh, please, anyone who could raise two kids like you and Mycroft couldn't possibly be 'dull,' Sherlock".

"You would be surprised," he replied, giving her a rather disinterested look, "They just happen to have an odd taste for names for their children, of course…" he hesitated slightly, his eyes drifting away from her, "Sherlock isn't technically my first name".

Amelia's eyebrows rose, feeling instantly curious and rather eager to hear more, and judging by the very faint crinkle of his nose, she thought that perhaps Sherlock regretted having admitted that to her. She wouldn't be surprised, he seemed to enjoy surrounding himself with mystery, he really was the most dramatic guy she had ever met. He could walk into Baker Streets living room randomly one evening dressed like Dracula and she and John probably wouldn't even bat an eye, in fact, she was almost tempted to convince him to do just that to see if her theory was correct, John being the unwitting test subject, of course.

"What is your first name, then?" she asked, trying hard not to sound too eager. She didn't think she succeeded, however, since he gave her a rather withering glare.

"It's really very boring and unimportant, Amelia…"

"Please".

He stopped short and Amelia stared at him hopefully, giving him a tiny, encouraging little smile. He eyed her closely for a moment long, before releasing a small, almost exasperated sigh, "You're a detective, Amelia," he said, giving her a challenging look, "If you're really that interested, deduce it yourself".

Amelia sighed and threw him a disappointed look, tapping her red painted fingernails against the table cloth, "Seriously?" she muttered.

He smirked at her, obviously feeling rather pleased with himself, though Amelia wasn't going to just give up on learning his full name, not now that she knew that there was more to it than just 'Sherlock' or 'Holmes'. She could ask Mycroft, of course, but he'd probably use it as a means to owe him a favour and she had seen Sherlock's ID and it had Sherlock as his first name, so she imagined he must have legally have changed it at some point. Hardly surprising, of course he'd want to go by such an uncommon name.

"What's wrong, Amelia?" he gave her a mock innocent look, "I thought you enjoyed a challenge?"

"Don't worry, Holmes," she told him lightly, giving him a sweet smile, "I'll find out the truth, I always do in the end. This isn't over".

"I look forward to it".

She picked up her glass of water and mockingly toasted it towards him, before sipping it lightly without breaking eye contact with him. In the low, romantic lighting of the restaurant his eyes almost looked greener then blue, because of course he would also have eyes that couldn't possibly be one simple colour but seemingly three. Brown eyes would have been too common for him; why not have three different colours for different lighting? Yeah, that sounded like Sherlock, though he couldn't exactly be held responsible for his genetic makeup.

She placed her glass delicately back onto the table, watching him closely, her hand lightly damp from the condensation coating the smooth, curved surface of the glass. Silence settled over them and Sherlock seemed, once again, to find it difficult to quite know how to proceed, while Amelia waited curiously to see what he would do. It was rather odd to see him so uncomfortable, so utterly out of depth, he was usually so sure of himself and more than happy to talk, rather quickly, while on a case or scoffing at something, but apparently just a simple, friendly conversation was too much for him to quite know how to proceed. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but she also didn't want to enable him from _trying_ to engage with another human being, because she knew he was capable of it, she just thought he needed to be given that first stepping stone or push into a direction when it came to, which she had already provided for him once. Now, she wanted to give him the chance to take the next step.

Their waiter approached their table and took their orders, breaking the slightly awkward air that had draped their table. Amelia turned her attention back onto Sherlock as their waiter departed with their orders and their menus in hand, unknowingly taking away Sherlock's chance of possibly avoiding any impending conversation, if he didn't want to be rude and go on his phone, which even Sherlock seemed to have realised wasn't the correct social norm while having dinner with someone at a nice French restaurant. Twenty seconds dragged on between them, Amelia lifting one eyebrow very slightly at Sherlock, as though to ask him what he was going to do next. He cleared his throat.

"I suppose…" he tried to look casual, though he failed miserably, "…that this would be the part in normal social convention where I would ask you something about your family?"

Amelia smiled faintly, feeling a little proud of him, "You can, if you want," she told him, before shrugging lightly, "But you really don't need to follow 'normal social convention' if you don't want to. I don't care, honestly".

Sherlock nodded casually again, still no quite able to pull it off as his eyes drifted around the room, quickly looking around at the other patrons sitting at tables dotted around the restaurant, talking and eating their meals. Amelia thought he might be trying to deduce them in order to help try to ease himself more, falling back onto something he was comfortable with in order to be able to try and do something he was much less comfortable with. But she allowed him the chance to do it, observing his guarded expression, trying to get a peek into his mind.

"And how would you define your parents?" he finally asked, his gaze suddenly back on her. He actually looked curious now, as though he actually wanted to know and wasn't just doing it because it was expected, "Considering that they raised a son who turned out to be a consulting criminal and a daughter who is completely opposite".

"Oh, I'm not sure if I'm _so_ different from James," Amelia remarked thoughtfully, her eyes drifting down to watch ideally as she traced a random pattern across the table cloth, "We just have different ethics and motivations, I think, but we both share the same relish for our work. I could very well have become a criminal, had I not felt more drawn towards helping people then James, but I'm certainly not an angel," her eyes flickered back up to Sherlock, who had been watching her intently, "I am a Moriarty and James's twin, we have more in common than just a fifty percent share of genes and a taste for Westwood".

Sherlock almost looked amused, "Still, you can't deny that it's curious," he said lightly, "You are both twins and yet, you both took very different paths in life. It would make for an excellent psychological experiment".

"It would, wouldn't it?" she agreed, smiling faintly, "But anyway, as for my parents…" she shook her head, remembering what his actual question had been, before she had gotten sidetracked, "I suppose they were relatively interesting to some, probably not to you. My mum was French, she moved to Ireland when she and dad married and spent most of her time organising charity events. Dinners, auctions, fundraises, that sort of thing…"

"Wilson is hardly a French last name, Amelia".

"Ah, well, my grandfather was English, who in turn married a French woman and settled in France, hence the less then French last name. As for my father, he owned a real-estate developing company, which was and still remains one of the most prominent companies in the field to this day. I still own fifty percent of the company, James would have had the other half, but of course he was disinherited".

"Why?" Sherlock questioned at once.

Amelia smirked slightly, "Trying to learn more about the enemy?"

"I would be an idiot if I didn't, which we both know that I'm not".

"Just as you're certainly not humble about it," she added, laughing lightly. Sherlock didn't even bother to pretend to be embarrassed for her calling him out on his arrogance, not that she was expecting him to be, "Not that I imagine it will be of much help, but dad disinherited James after he found out James had started to get involved with a more criminal element, so when we turned eighteen, James took off and I changed my last name to Wilson," she sighed slightly, frowning lightly to herself, "That was a _very_ pleasant birthday".

"'A criminal element?' Could you possibly be any vaguer, Amelia?"

"Hey, I don't know the details," she quickly defended herself, pointing a finger at him, "I was off sneaking into clubs and having fun, I hardly knew what day of the week it was half the time. I did tell you it wouldn't be helpful".

Sherlock gave her a half-exasperated, half-disappointed look, "Your detailed account was positively thrilling, Amelia".

Amelia rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, but she found herself oddly unaffected by it, unlike in the past when she might have taken offence and used it as a chance to annoy him further, "I was a rebelling teenage girl, Holmes," she said dryly, "I was hardly caring about what James was up to, just as long as he wasn't bothering me".

"One might have thought as his sister, you would be the best person to stop him".

"Oh, because you and Mycroft are so terribly close?"

"Close? Hardly. But at least I know how to stop him".

He was smiling faintly now and Amelia eyed him, feeling a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, realising that he was actually joking now, "Oh?" she asked, mock curious as she leaned closer towards him from across the table, "Do tell, Holmes".

"Chocolate ripple cake".

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her lips as she kept laughing, unable to help herself. It wasn't even that funny, but since Sherlock so rarely actually teased or made a joke like that, she couldn't help herself from letting herself be swept up by it. Sherlock was actually smiling to, a proper, real smile that made his eyes lighten and crinkle lightly at the edges; making him suddenly look so much more relaxed and comfortable then he had all evening. It suited him, she thought, seeing him actually smiling sincerely about something and not just scoffing or rolling his eyes at something he deemed to be 'Stupid'.

"Poor Mycroft," Amelia grinned, letting her hand drop back down onto the table, shaking her head, "We shouldn't tease him when he's not even here to defend himself, Sherlock".

Sherlock shrugged; looking completely unconcerned by it, "We haven't even touched on John's jumpers yet…" he gave her an almost innocent little smile, though the glimmer in his eyes was far from innocent.

"Stop it," she couldn't help her smile widening, however. She playfully kicked her red sandaled heels into his shin, far too soft to ever hurt him; in fact she'd probably break her toes if she did actually try to properly kick someone in her heels.

"Oh, course, there's positively hours worth of material in Lestrade's career alone…"

"Sherlock, we are not sitting here gossiping about our friends!"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at her, sitting comfortably back into his chair as he brought his hands together beneath his chin, his fingers steepled together, "So why are you smiling, Amelia?" he smirked.

Amelia groaned and covered her face, though she couldn't wipe her amused smile from her face, "Shut up," she muttered, peering through her fingers at him, trying to give him a stern look, "We are not giggling over our friends, Sherlock. That isn't very nice".

"Fine," he sighed, rolling his eyes. Amelia nodded firmly and reached for her glass, really starting to feel quite hungry now…, "But…did Lestrade ever tell you of the time he was almost hit by a police car that he forgot to put into park?"

Amelia very nearly choked on her water, though she had thankfully only just touched her lips to the rim of the glass, unable to stop herself from breaking into loud laughter that earned her a few dark looks from the tables that surrounded them. She quickly sat her glass down and covered her mouth, giggles shaking her body as Sherlock smiled widely, looking almost victorious.

"I never did hear that story, no," she shook her head, once she had managed to control her laughter enough to be trusted to try speaking, "But I do recall one incident during a rather bloody crime scene when Lestrade slipped over and ended up covered head to toe in blood an hour before he was supposed to be having a meeting with the chief superintendent…he didn't have a change of clothing, either and the forensic overalls could only protect him so much…"

….

The food was positively delicious and the glass of wine that Amelia had decided to indulge herself in had been an excellent choice. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually enjoyed herself more during a dinner, she and Sherlock continued to talk about some of the more embarrassing things that they had witnessed during their cases, many of which involving either Anderson or Lestrade, and while Amelia did feel a little bad about talking about Lestrade so much, she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about Anderson. In fact, she could hardly believe that their meal was almost finished as she sipped on her coffee, their waiter just taking away their empty desert plates.

"So…" she began, feeling comfortably full and on the edge of getting sleepy, the wine and good food no doubt doing its trick. God, she was getting old, wasn't she? "Tell me about your first case".

Sherlock lowered his small, white cup from his lips, "Ah, my best work, some might say," he said with a hint of sarcasm, though Amelia looked eagerly at him. He sighed, looking as though he was seriously debating with himself about sharing, before he fixed her with a very serious look, "It was the Mysterious Case of the Missing Gumboot".

Amelia blinked slowly, certain she had misheard, "Please go on," she urged him, realising that he was actually talking about something from his childhood, which she knew pretty much nothing about.

He gave her a very stern look, no doubt noting her growing excitement, "If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone…"

"No one else will know, I swear. It'll stay between us, Holmes".

He still looked as though he was deeply regretting so much as mentioning the story, but it was too late now, "I was seven," he began, "As a young child, I had a certain…interest in pirates…"

"Aww," Amelia cooed, grinning at the warning glare he shot her.

"As I was saying…" he went on, his tone growing a bit more annoyed, "I liked pirates, but I wasn't allowed to go outside without my gumboots on…don't even _think_ about making that sound again," he gave her a sharp look as she broke into a delighted smile. She quickly held her hands up, though she was still grinning, making him sigh loudly, "But when I want to collect them from the back door, they had disappeared. My first deduction was Mycroft had hidden them, but even back then Mycroft would rarely go out of his way to bother trying to find a hiding spot. But why would my parent's take them? It made little sense…"

"So who took them?" Amelia asked, strangely fascinated by the innocent story he was telling her.

"No one, though technically it was my mother. Apparently, they had been so muddy that my mother had sat them outside to be cleaned once they had dried".

She couldn't help laughing faintly, feeling her cheeks actually starting to ach from smiling and laughing so much, "That was…adorable, Sherlock," she told him, utterly thrilled that he had actually shared such a sweet, innocent little story from his childhood with her.

"And you?"

"Well, I did solve a few minor cases myself as a rather nosy little girl, such as the missing Cabbage Patch Doll that my brother was responsible for. But my first real case was what turned me into a detective, rather than the criminal psychologist I thought I would be".

Sherlock was watching her with open interest now, sitting up straighter, "Yes?"

Amelia frowned very faintly, glancing down at the table, recalling the memories, "Well, I didn't really know what I wanted to do when I left school," she said slowly, "I considered the police force, but I found the whole system to be…dull, constrictive. I wanted more freedom, not politics, but I had found psychology so interesting and since I already had an interest in crime, I thought criminal psychology might be the best of both worlds," she glanced back up to him, finding him eyeing her closely, listening intently, "So I went down that path, though I'll admit that my time at uni was largely partying, until after dad died. Suddenly, I had all this responsibility, property, more money then I even knew what to do with…and I was alone".

"Your brother?"

"I couldn't possibly tell you, he didn't even go to dad's funeral, and I can assure you that I was hardly missing his _pleasant_ company," she made a slight face, before going on, "Anyway, I was a bit of a mess, the things I did, Sherlock…well, I regret that stage of my life more than anything, but I did manage to clean myself up and actually focus on school, stopped hanging around with all my drinking friends and probably saved myself from developing an addiction to alcohol. Then, after I graduated, I found myself moving into the townhouse in Belgravia…"

"Amelia, as fascinating as this story is, remind me again what it has to do with your first case?"

"I'm setting the scene, Sherlock," she rolled her eyes, giving him a look; "I'd only been living in the house for a week, when I had a knock on the door. The father of a girl I had known through mutual friends had somehow found out I was interested in crime and he managed to track me down. He was beside himself, hadn't showered in days or slept, for that matter, because his daughter had gone missing. The police weren't interested; she was mixed up heavily in drugs and had been known to disappear frequently, but the father insisted it was different".

"Hardly unusual, as cases go," Sherlock remarked, though he didn't yet seem to be bored and was still looking intently at her, clearly curious to hear more.

"Sadly, that's true. So I tried to help, even though I felt horribly out of depth, but the police did seem rather indifferent and her father was so upset, I couldn't possibly not try to look for the girl. I started with the basics, looking at those close to her and her life, habits, likes and dislikes, until I found a lead and followed it…only I was too late, she was already dead".

"Again," he cut in, not appearing to be in the slightest bit affected, though Amelia couldn't say she didn't still feel sad when she thought about it, "Not an uncommon outcome with a client like that".

Amelia sighed grimly, nodding, "Still, it was rather horrible," she said quietly, "I was the same age as her and I just thought…well, I was hopeful," she fell silent for a moment, before drawing in a deep breath and returning her gaze to his, "But it wasn't the end of the story, you see she'd been murdered. The way her clothing was and her body had been covered felt wrong to me, but the police ruled it as an accidental overdose, but every instinct in my said otherwise. I decide to go at it alone and I solved it but it didn't feel like much of a victory. It almost ruined my career, too".

He was watching her even more closely now, leaning slightly towards her with his fingertips pressed together beneath his chin, his eyes running over her features swiftly. She could almost hear the thoughts buzzing inside his mind; it truly was so fascinating to watch him think like that. Not that she would ever admit that, not ever.

"What changed your mind?" he asked, his voice sounding strangely soft.

"I went to her funeral," Amelia replied, her eyes dropping back down onto the table cloth, remembering the day so vividly that she could still smell the lilies in the air, "Seeing her friends and family there, mourning for her, made me realise that there was a bigger picture to solving crimes. It wasn't about me," she looked up at him, her eyes growing harder, "It was about the impact that having that crime solved would have on the victim and those close to them. That's what I work for, Sherlock, not the thrill of the chase or the enjoyment of the puzzle, I do it for _them_ ".

Sherlock didn't respond, but she did think she saw something flicker in his eyes, something close to respect, perhaps even a hint of admiration, but it was gone just as quickly as she had seen it, his emotions closed off and closely guarded once more. But just for that second, she felt a sense of pride fill her.

….

It was getting on to midnight by the time they had left the restaurant and gotten a cab back to Baker Street, Amelia had almost instantly stripped her sandaled heels off the second she had stepped into the entrance hallway of Baker Street. She didn't miss the eye roll Sherlock sent her, though he seemed to refine from making a remark about how impractical her choice in clothing was, perhaps she wasn't the only one who was starting to feel closer to each other after their rather successful evening. She hid a small smile at the thought and trailed behind him up the stairs, both of them pausing on the landing outside Sherlock's living room door and the door leading into her own flat, looking at each other in silence, though it was strangely comfortable.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Amelia began, giving him a smile, though she felt like she wanted nothing more than to take off all her makeup and crawl into bed right about now, "It was really very nice of you to suggest we have dinner. It was fun".

"It…wasn't completely tortures," he agreed, making her laugh, before she could stop herself.

"Way to make it sound _so_ dramatic," she shook her head, though she was still smiling and not in any way offended, in fact she thought she was starting to understand Sherlock a little better, read between the lines a bit more to decipher what else he might mean, which wasn't always meant to be offence or mean. Or she thought so, anyway.

The edge of his mouth rose very faintly, barely visible, if one wasn't looking closely for it, "You did surprise me, Amelia," he remarked lightly, "You're not nearly as annoying as I was expecting".

"So you enjoyed yourself, then?"

"I didn't say that…"

"You didn't have to," she cut across him, smirking as he shot her a mildly irritated look, which had no true emotion behind it. Her smirk softened as she licked her lips, shifting slightly, making the floorboards beneath her creak under the rug covering the floor, "I…also feel like I owe you another thank you, for…well, the whole Adler mess…"

Almost instantly, Sherlock's expression closed off and his shoulders stiffened, very slightly, "Amelia…"

"No, Sherlock," she said firmly, meeting his eyes. She stepped slightly closer to him, bringing their faces a mere inch away from each other, "I know she's still alive," she whispered, smiling very faintly at the hint of surprise that crossed his face, "And I know _you_ saved her from whatever mess she had gotten herself into, a mess I helped land her in when I cracked the code on her phone. So…I am grateful to you, Sherlock, for saving her life. I couldn't have handled having her death on my hands".

He leaned back from her slightly, narrowing his eyes, "It wouldn't have been your fault".

"Perhaps not, but I still would have felt guilty".

"That's ridiculous".

"Whoever said that guilt wasn't a ridiculous emotion?" she shot back, smirking again as she took another step back from him, "Good night, Sherlock".

She didn't wait to hear or see how he reacted; instead she turned on her heel and crossed the short distance to her door into her own flat, feeling very happy and hopeful for what this new friendship between herself and Sherlock may mean for their working relationship. It certainly couldn't hurt.

 _ **And finished, finally! I've had this partly written up for months now and I only just got the motivation to finally finish it. I feel like this is a very important turning point for Amelia and Sherlock, they've realised that they actually can get along and they've bonded more, their friendship is firmly being established. We also learnt more about Amelia, which is something I've so desperately tried to sprinkle in the main story, but it's hard when there's so much action and other more important stuff going on, half the time it would feel out of place to have her mention how she got into private detective work or more about her family.**_

 _ **A big thank you to uNICOrnDIANGELO for suggesting that I write this one shot, I finally got around to doing it and I hope you liked it. If anyone has any more suggestions, I'd love to hear them and Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr, Shoplook, and Pinterest page. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	4. Chapter 4 The Speckled Blonde, Part 1

_**The Speckled Blonde, Part 1**_

Morning on Baker Street always seemed to range from utterly dull and ordinary, Sherlock reading his paper with his dressing gown over his day clothing, John busy focusing on his breakfast, and Amelia eating her eggs and bacon between ideally scrolling through her emails on her phone, to something else entirely. Some mornings on Baker Street reminded Amelia Wilson that she truly did have quite an odd life, even before having meet Sherlock Holmes and John Watson; her life hadn't been anywhere near as interesting as it was now. Sure, she had still been a detective, she still had her cases, and lived her life largely the same as it was now, but when you meet a man like Sherlock Holmes and become involved in his life, somehow it does change you. She didn't think you could be a part of his life without it changing you somehow.

Of course, she would rather kill herself then ever admit that aloud. The man already had a large enough ego.

Amelia's morning usually followed the same routine, her alarm would wake her at seven thirty and she would shower before having breakfast. When she had lived in her own home, she wouldn't have cared about getting dressed for breakfast, staying in her bathrobe with her hair wrapped up in a towel, but now that she typically took her meals with the boys next-door, she tended to dress and do her hair and makeup before organising her breakfast, because as much as she imagined it would be amusing to witness Sherlock and John turn purple from the embarrassment of having breakfast with her in her bathrobe, even she had some limits in regards to how far she was willing to push Sherlock. Plus, he did tend to be usually rather grumpy in the mornings, which made for little amusement on her behalf.

The kettle finished boiling, clicking loudly as it shook slightly on the small black stand, emitting a swirl of steam into the air as she grasped the black, curved hand with red nail polished fingers and poured boiling water into her stripped white and blue tea cup, instantly turning the water an amber hue from the teabag sitting at the bottom of the cup. She typically cooked her own breakfast and took it next door with her in the mornings, not wishing to impose upon Mrs Hudson, since she wasn't actually a tenant of the land lady's. With the tea still brewing, Amelia turned back to the stove and turned the rashers of sizzling bacon and eggs in the pan over, before yawning to herself, absently covering her painted red lips with her left hand.

She was tired, though what else was new? It seemed like ever since James had popped up again and her secret had finally been revealed to Sherlock and John, that all she ever was was tired. She would lie in bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling above her head, her mind whirling with thoughts and worries about what her maniac brother might do next, what he might be planning, what horrible plan he intended to embroil herself and her new friends in. And they were her friends, even Sherlock, who she had tried so hard to distance herself from at the beginning, was a friend to her now. She had given up on pretending as though he wasn't. He knew her secret, he knew who her brother was and he still trusted her enough to work with her, he still valued her work as a detective. He could have easily hated her for the deception or jumped to the conclusion that she had been planted into his life by James in order to get to him from a deeper, more personal level, but he hadn't. He trusted her still, and if that wasn't enough to earn her friendship, what more would?

Amelia pulled herself from her thoughts and grabbed a white and blue trimmed plate from off the kitchen bench by her cup, transferring the pan's contents across onto it, before sitting it back down on the plate. She ducked back into her bedroom and checked her reflection again, making sure she hadn't accidently spilt any oil or grease onto her red tweed dress, straightening the navy blue and white bow that went around the bodice of the dress. She wondered if it was perhaps a little plunging in regards to the V-neckline, before dismissing it, it was still tasteful, but with a hint of cleavage. Her Valentino heels matched perfectly, red with a navy blue strap and white trim, while the small ruby studs in her ears complimented the colour of her dress and lipstick. Of course, she wasn't trying to impress the boys, Sherlock barely looked at women and John was closer to a brother, in her eyes, but she liked to try and always look professional.

"Okay, stop staring at yourself, Amelia," she rolled her eyes at her own reflection, smoothing back a strand of dark brown hair that had already started to escape her low bun, "Breakfasts getting cold".

God, she was talking to herself…again. She felt like she needed to get a dog or something, people were less likely to think you were going nuts if you had the excuse that you were just talking aloud to the dog. Or maybe she was just mental, look at her brother. That was a cheery thought to have at eight in the morning. She shook her head at herself and grabbed her navy and red trimmed coat, along with matching handbag, off her bed and easily draped them over one arm as she returned to the kitchen to grab her plate and cup, moving with practiced ease through into the open planned living and dining room, towards the interconnecting door between her flat and the boys.

Amelia found Sherlock sitting at the small dining table between the windows of the boys flat as she entered, though this morning he seemed to be busy scowling at something on John's laptop screen, ignoring his clearly untouched breakfast beside the computer. John was nowhere in sight, though she heard the sound of the shower running down the hallway, just before it cut off.

"Morning, Sherlock," she greeted as she moved to take her usual seat in the chair at the end of the table, John typically sitting in the chair directly across from Sherlock. She placed her cup and plate down on the table, before draping her coat over the back of her chair, dropping her handbag onto the floor to lean against the table leg.

"Amelia," he said without looking up, looking positively annoyed by whatever he was reading on the screen.

She lifted an eyebrow, dropping onto her chair, crossing her bare legs, "Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully, eyeing his expression, "Now, judging by your expression, either Mycroft has been declared Prime Minister of Britain, _or_ …" she let the sentence dangle as he finally fixed her with a small glare, "…you're currently reading John's last blog update. Again".

"'The Geek Interpreter,'" Sherlock glared back to the screen, grimacing distastefully, "I have never read a more romanticised, absurdly inaccurate retelling in my life!"

"Oh, dear God…" Amelia sighed, closing her eyes in exasperation, "It's way too early for _this_ ," she shook her head and opened her eyes, reaching for her tea cup.

""Sherlock sent Amelia and I to do some research, which involved us going into a comic book shop…Oh, the things we saw, and Amelia got chattered up by some bloke dressed up like Captain America. In the middle of the day, no less. It was a silent ride home that day; I don't think she'll ever be able to look at Captain America the same again…'"

Amelia felt her cheeks warming as Sherlock lifted his gaze up to her, clearing her throat, "I told you I didn't want to go to the comic book store," she muttered, giving him a pointed look, "For God's sake, do I look like the type of woman to fit in at one of those places? Plus, it smelt like dirty socks!"

"I told you to wear a different skirt…"

"Hey, I shouldn't have to change how I dress just because some men seem to think that women are just sex objects to ogle at! I'm a woman and proud of it, I don't dress _for_ men!"

"But this is what I'm talking about," Sherlock huffed loudly, gesturing sharply towards the laptop screen. For a second, Amelia feared he might actually smash his fist into it…which probably wouldn't be the first time he'd smashed something in annoyance, "It's all pointless drivel which had no meaning to the case. _Where_ is the analytical reasoning? Why must he insist on writing about the utterly useless and meaningless information that has no relevance to the facts of the case?"

Amelia groaned to herself, casting her eyes upwards as she lifted her cup up to her lips, taking a sip of slightly overly warm tea, just to try and avoid having to answer right now. She felt like she'd had this argument with him a dozen times before, every time John wrote a new blog update it seemed like Sherlock managed to find something to complain about. Of course, he was waiting for her to say something, his pale blue eyes narrowed on her profile expectedly, obviously waiting for her to react. She swallowed her mouthful and placed her cup down on the table next to her plate.

"Sherlock," she began carefully, looking across to him with a stern look, "Let it go, please. It's John's blog; let him write what he wants, since he is telling it from _his_ perspective of the case. Besides…" she shrugged her right shoulder lightly, reaching for her knife and fork, ignoring his eyes glaring into the side of her face, "People don't want to hear about the 'analytical reasoning' of how we solve the case, they want to read a good story, which includes adding irrelevant information. It humanises it".

"'Humanises it?'" he repeated, scoffing loudly, throwing the laptop an icy look, "Why does that matter?"

"People have to be able to somehow relate to a story, they need to be able to try and picture themselves right there, because it makes it more real".

"This isn't a _story_ , Amelia, this is work…"

Amelia almost groaned aloud again, but she managed to resist, having just stuck some cut egg and bacon in her mouth. She chewed as Sherlock continued to go on his little rant, largely allowing his words to just wash over her, like white noise. God, it must be a talent, being able to speak for so long without seemingly needing to stop for air, she was almost impressed. But eventually, she did need to cut in and stop him as she finished her mouthful, swallowing it.

"Sherlock!" she interrupted him loudly, raising her voice slightly. He stopped midsentence and actually looked slightly taken aback, which was almost amusing to see on his face. She took a deep breath, before fixing him with a look, "Shut up. Look, I get it, okay?" she sighed heavily, "You don't like the fact that John glosses over all of the significant, tiny details that we consider to be so hugely important to solving a case, but the thing it, no one else cares about those details, if they did they would be able to solve the case for themselves. John writes his blog from his view point, which is how the rest of the world views our cases. He writes it like a normal, ordinary person would write it, that's why people like reading his blog, because it's something they can understand and connect with," she lifted her tea cup up to her lips to take a sip, before pausing, "And to be perfectly honest, I find it rather flattering".

Sherlock scoffed again, crossing his arms across his chest, like a sulky child, "Of course you find it flattering," he said, before putting on a higher pitched voice, "'Amelia Wilson and Sherlock Holmes, from first meeting, could have been cut from the same cloth. Just like with Sherlock, Amelia's way of introducing herself to me was by reading me my entire life story, but unlike Sherlock, she actually seems to have a concept of being normal, you know, for someone who's shoes cost more than my rent…'" he dropped the voice and threw her a look, while Amelia attempted to conceal her blush by focusing on cutting up her bacon, "Oh, yes, incredibly flattering".

"That's not what I was referring to," Amelia closed her eyes in exasperation, glancing back across to him, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork, "I think it's _flattering_ that anyone would actually take the time to write about our cases. _Now_ …" she gave him a strained, forced smile, "Can we please drop the subject? You're putting me off my breakfast," she lifted the fork up to her mouth pointedly.

He huffed slightly, though he thankfully refined from saying anything else on the matter, eyeing her carefully. Blissful silence washed over them, but of course it couldn't last. It never seemed to last long with Sherlock Holmes in the room.

"I see you're going out with Molly later".

She swallowed her mouthful and nodded, "We're having coffee at ten," she informed him, though she didn't imagine he would actually care that much, "Then we're going to get our nails done, have lunch, and probably do a bit of shopping. I…feel a little responsible for the whole 'Jim' incident," she admitted sheepishly, frowning as she glanced up to him, finding him eyeing her closely still, "I haven't been spending as much time with her as I used to, we've been so busy, I just think that if I had been around more for her I might have realised what James was doing…"

"You blame yourself," he narrowed his eyes, "You do realise that guilt is an utterly useless emotion, Amelia. You can't possibly place responsibility upon yourself for your brother's actions".

"I don't, not usually, anyway. But Molly's different, he went after her because he knew she was my friend and that she had a connection to you, he made her feel special, pretended to be interested in her. He _hurt_ her, Sherlock. And I should have seen it, I should have known".

"You can't have known, Amelia," John's voice cut through the air, stern but gentle. She and Sherlock looked up to find him frowning slightly as he moved to take his usual seat at the table across from Sherlock, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, but he was dressed in his usual jeans and a dark blue and white checked shirt, "Nothing that man has ever done is your fault," he told her, just as he lifted his fork up, only to pause and point it towards her, "Do you hear me?"

Amelia smiled very slightly, feeling touched by how insistent he was that it wasn't her fault, when it had only been three months since the truth had come out about her connection to the mysterious and deadly, James Moriarty. John had been a bit guarded around her at first, recovering from the shock of being kidnapped, having a bomb strapped to his chest, finding out someone he had come to trust and befriend was actually related to the same man who had placed him in that position, and then almost blown up again by his own flatmate. But he had slowly warmed up to her again, she had probably apologised a million times and even Sherlock had spoken up for her, reassuring John that Amelia was innocent and hadn't been working with her brother behind their back. It seemed to have gone a long way in helping to regain his trust, which meant so much to her. They might have only known each other a little over seven months now, but she found that she had grown rather fond of the army doctor. He was a good man and a good friend.

"Yeah," she said, finally, "And I promise, I'm trying not to let it get to me, honestly. I just…I feel horrible for what happened to Molly".

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he reached for his folded up newspaper, sitting off to the side of his still untouched plate, "You're a sentimentalist, Amelia," he remarked, sounding disapproving as he opened his newspaper with a loud rustle, before disappearing behind it. Amelia stuck her tongue out at him, " _And_ childish," he added from behind his paper, not so much as lowering it.

"So says _you_ ," Amelia shot back, smirking to herself as she went to sip her tea. This was a man who kept a stash of cigarettes hidden away inside an old slipper, not to mention his habit of wondering around his flat in his dressing gown, or his inability to apparently walk around his own coffee table. Honestly, she could go on and on about his possibly childish habits, but she held herself back, draining her cup and placing it back onto the table by her plate.

Silence settled over the room, comfortable and easy as John and Amelia continued their breakfast, while Sherlock would occasionally turn to the next page in his newspaper. Amelia wasn't sure how much he actually read and took in, though, since he seemed to be completely ignorant in regards to most of current news events, such as who the British Prime Minister was, or the memorable morning when he had no idea that the Earth travelled around the Sun. She supposed he probably just checked for any unusual crimes that had been committed, and deleted everything else. That, in itself, was still something she found herself rather curious by, even if it was obviously detrimental to ones basic knowledge of the world. Seriously, how did he just 'delete' knowing that the Earth travels around the sun? _How_?

And then…Sherlock's phone began ringing.

Amelia and John instantly tensed, catching each other's eyes as they slowly looked across to Sherlock, who had lowered his paper and placed it on the table, not seeming the slightest bit bothered by letting it fall over the top of his plate as he reached for his trilling phone in his dressing gown pocket. He clicked a button and lifted it up to his ear.

"Lestrade," he said briskly, his way of greeting. Amelia pushed her chair back from the table and rose, grabbing her coat and handbag, while John hurriedly starting trying to finish off the last few mouthfuls of food he had left. After barely twenty seconds, Sherlock nodded, "We'll meet you there," he lowered the phone and clicked it off, breaking into a smile, "We've got a case. Come on!"

He practically flew out of his chair, never more alive than when they had a case as he dashed across the room, shrugging his dressing gown off as he tossed it over towards the sofa. He pulled the living room door closed slightly to grab his coat and scarf from where they were hanging on the back of the door, while Amelia pulled her own coat on over her dress, her handbag dangling off the crook of her arm.

"Can't we hold off another five minutes?" John sighed; though he was already sitting his knife and fork down, pushing his chair back to stand.

Amelia raised an eyebrow at him, "What, are you new here or something?" she laughed slightly at the disgruntled look that crossed his face, "Come along, John. Murder waits for no one".

John heaved a large sigh and rose from his chair, casting his breakfast a regretful look as Amelia smiled, crossing the room to join Sherlock by the door as he pulled his coat on. Today certainly wasn't going to be an ordinary morning on Baker Street.

….

It was a lovely summer morning with a pleasant breeze in the air, Amelia almost felt silly for having bothered to wear her coat, but then again, Sherlock was dressed in his scarf and thick, long coat as though it was the middle of winter, so she supposed that compared to him, she didn't look that odd climbing out of the back of the cab behind the man in question as they pulled up outside St. Bartholomew's Hospital, John slipping out behind her. They made their way inside and headed down the very familiar route to the morgue, finding Lestrade waiting for them just outside the doors.

"Morning," he greeted them as they approached, Amelia's heels sounding loudly against the laminated flooring.

"Lestrade," Sherlock began right away as they came to a stop before him, seeming rather impatient to get a move on with the case, though that was hardly surprising. Amelia and John didn't even have a chance to return Lestrade's greeting, "You said you have a case for us," he lifted an eyebrow, looking expectedly towards the other man.

"And a _good_ morning to you, too," Lestrade gave him a sarcastic smile, earning an exasperated puff of air from Sherlock. He shook his head and turned towards Amelia, seeming to decide that he'd rather address her, then Sherlock, "Julia Stoner," he told her, "Her sister, Helen, found her this morning lying on her bed, dead. There's no obvious sign of how she died, just these funny looking red dots all over her body. I thought you three might want to take a look," he cast her eyes over Sherlock and John at that.

Amelia glanced at her companions, "It certainly sounds curious," she remarked, turning back to him with her eyebrows raise, "Can we see the body now, Lestrade?"

Lestrade turned on his heel and pushed the double doors to the morgue open, while the three of them followed close behind him, the chilled air instantly hitting their cheeks. Amelia tried hard not to wrinkle her nose against the strong stench of cleaning fluids and antiseptic that seemed to hit them like a harsh slap in the face, instead she focused on the young woman's body lying on a metal table in the middle of the room, her skin a greyish blue beneath the harsh florescent lights of the room, curious red dots that seem to cover most of her flesh, while a white sheet covered her body largely from view. Her blonde hair was obviously dyed, pooling around her head on the table, pushed back off her face as though it had been wet and then brushed back. Lestrade hung back slightly as the three of them moved towards the table, eyeing the body closely.

"You weren't kidding about those spots," Amelia murmured, frowning as she peered down at the woman's body, frowning slightly at the strange, seemingly random pattern of spots that covered the woman's flesh. Julia Stoner wasn't much older than her, only in her early thirties, if she had to guess, with not even a hint of a bruise or anything to indicate how she might have died, just as Lestrade had said.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, his pale blue eyes quickly running up and down the body, before slipping his hand inside his pocket, pulling out his small magnifier glass, leaning closer to examine the woman's skin intently under the glass.

"No bruising," John commented, standing on the other side of the table, "No obvious wounds…"

"It does rather suggest something internal," Amelia said thoughtfully, before pausing, "Or environmental, in nature," she glanced at Sherlock beside her, closely examining the woman's fingers, "Should make for an interesting story for you blog, John," she looked across to the shorter man, giving him a slight smile.

Sherlock sniffed at that, apparently still not completely over his early morning annoyance, "Do people actually read your blog?" he asked him, his voice rather tight as he continued peering closely through his magnifying glass, now examining the woman's arm.

Amelia closed her eyes tightly in exasperation, resisting the urge to groan, "Oh, not t _his_ again," she muttered, opening her eyes to glance at Sherlock, bent over the dead woman's arm, and across to John as he looked carefully at the woman's face.

John's eyes flickered over to her, before turning his gaze back onto the body, "Where d'you think our clients come from?" he shot back at Sherlock, his tone carrying a hint of his own annoyance, apparently not missing Sherlock's own tone.

Sherlock gave a slight shrug, "I have a website".

"In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash," he replied, still carefully eyeing the woman's pale, speckled face, missing the sharp look Sherlock gave him as his head snapped up, "Nobody's reading your website".

Amelia looked quickly between both men, her internal warning bell ringing loudly in the back of her mind as she noticed the way that Sherlock's eyes had narrowed into a glare, aimed directly at poor John, who seemed to be either purposely ignoring the sensation of someone burning a hole into the top of his skull…or he was simply being more oblivious then normal this morning. She sighed, straightening herself from where she had been leaning slightly over the table, giving Sherlock a firm look.

"Let it go, Sherlock," she told him sternly, though he hardly seemed to hear her, straightening at the same time that John did. She barely held back her groan, her tone almost pleading, "Just let it _go_ ".

"Right, then," John continued to eye the body, still seeming to miss Sherlock's expression, or Amelia's resigned one, "Dyed blonde hair…" he began listing off, "No obvious cause of death except for these speckles…" he frowned, bending over the body again, "…whatever they are," he used his gloved hand to gesture towards the odd spots scattered across even the dead woman's face, before lifting his head to look across the table…just in time to see Sherlock heading towards the door, his coat collar turned up. He blinked slowly, taken aback as he looked at Amelia for explanation.

Amelia sighed heavily, shaking her head as she cast Sherlock's back a look caught between amusement and annoyance, "I don't think he liked your little remark about his blog," she informed him, giving John a strained smile as Sherlock shoved the morgue doors open and loudly let them close behind him as he left the room.

"You've got to be kidding," he said with a huff, throwing the still swinging door an irritated look.

She nodded sympathetically, "I'll deal with him," she said, rolling her eyes slightly at the thought of actually needing to try and get a grown man in his early thirties to actually behave himself, as though he was a child. She missed working on her own sometimes, "Could you get a start on getting some blood toxicology tests running, John?" she asked him hopefully, letting her eyes drop back onto their murder victim, "These speckles kind of make me think of some sort of poison, maybe even an allergic reaction?"

John nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention back onto the body, "Seems pretty likely," he agreed, "If someone slipped her something, it could have caused a reaction like this. And a poison seems like the most likely cause of death, given any lack of trauma".

Amelia lightly hummed in agreement, before turning on her heel, "I'll go let Sherlock know what's happening," she said over her shoulder, her heels clicking on the floor, moving towards the door, "Hopefully he's done acting like a child".

"I'll leave you lot to it, then," Lestrade spoke up, almost startling Amelia, who had almost forgotten that he was still in the room with. She paused with one hand grasping the door handle, watching as he moved to follow her, "You seem like you've got it covered".

She shot him a cheeky smile, "That's why you come to us, Lestrade," she reminded him, probably speaking far to cheerfully for the fact that she was still standing within a morgue with a woman's body lying beneath a sheet not ten feet away. She pushed the door open, winking at him over her shoulder, "We _are_ the experts".

He gave a slight scoff at that, levelling her with an unimpressed look as he came to stand by her, "You're spending too much time around Sherlock, Amelia," he said, "You're starting to sound as smug as him".

Amelia instantly frowned and narrowed her eyes at him, before whirling around and striding out through the door, leaving him to catch up to her. She might have been trying to be friendlier with Sherlock and get along with him more, but she couldn't say that she enjoyed the idea of being likened to him like that. She preferred to think of herself as her own person, not anything like Sherlock Holmes.

 _ **The Speckled Blonde, ladies and gentlemen, I did say I wanted to try and start writing up John's blog entries from his website, so here is one of the first. And it will be set into parts, at this point I have a rough idea that it will be around three to four parts, possibly, but we'll see. Also, if anyone one is curious about dates, this is set around about the**_ _ **5th**_ _ **of July, 2010, since according to John's blog, he uploaded the case on the 13**_ _ **th**_ _ **of July and it then hit a slight lull for a couple of days during the case, and I'm also trying to take into account how quickly John might have been able to type it up. Judging by the Wiki time line, Amelia would have first meet John and Sherlock around the 30**_ _ **th**_ _ **and 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **of January of 2010, so they've been working together for the last six, seven months now. I don't know if anyone is actually interested, but it does help me having an idea of dates and how much time has passed. That, and it helps me keep track of what references I can't use…I had to take out one about Amelia not being able to watch Captain America due to the film not being released until late 2011.**_

 _ **As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr, Shoplook, and Pinterest. I hope you liked it, please let me know what you though, please review :)**_


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